


Just A Dream

by AidansQueen



Series: The Hound And The Little Bird [2]
Category: game of thrones
Genre: F/M, Sandor being Snarky, Sansa stands up for herself, dirty words
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 22:29:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1202902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AidansQueen/pseuds/AidansQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was unschooled in the ways of love and men. She had no idea how to approach him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just A Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything or make any money from any of it, all of it belongs to those who created Game Of Thrones. 
> 
> A/N: This is the sequel to my first one-shot, Minted Kisses. I hope you all enjoy! :) As she was in the previous one shot, Sansa has been aged up to eighteen.

Her footsteps made hardly a sound as she wandered the sunlit corridors around the courtyard. She enjoyed the warm sunlight on her skin, even as the sweet taste of mint rolled around on her tongue. It was as if a feverish need had overtaken her mind, she was driven to seek him out even against her own best interests. She never had the nerve to approach him though, she watched him from afar with the taste of mint on her tongue and the memory of his rough lips upon her soft ones. She was such a little coward; she’d inwardly scolded herself repeatedly.

               The idea had begun as a thought, a passing fancy that drifted behind her eyes as she stood in court one day watching him stand so stiffly behind Joffrey. He looked so empty, so listless standing there, repeating day to day functions and listening to the dull machinations of a boy king pretending to be something he wasn’t. She had the peculiar desire to ease that emptiness, to find some way to fill him up where wine and the rush of a bloody fight could not. She’d never openly approached a man before like this, and felt perfectly wanton even thinking to do so.  That Alasaynne Tyrell had sparked in her curiosity, the desire to understand why men and women craved each other as they did. When he’d kissed her she felt it right down to the tips of her toes, her body had melted and molded against his as if it had belonged there and she craved the taste of him in her mouth again.

               So now she fluttered around him like a hummingbird circling a fragrant flower, not that Sandor Clegane could ever be described as a _flower_. Sansa was timid and shy by nature, having been taught that such behavior was inappropriate. She was willingly defying the teachings of her septa to seek him out like this. It was warm that morning, the heavy material of her gown pressing against her skin as tendrils of auburn curls stuck to her temples. It wasn’t even noon yet and she was already starting to sweat. She could see him from the courtyard; it was high up on a stone platform encircled by pillars and walkways, shrouded in green vines with brightly colored flowers. From the walkway she could lean against the stone railing and peer down over the side, watching the men far below her.

               He was down there, his sword shimmering in the morning light as it swung against his opponent. She had seen men fight before, but none fought like he did. She wonders why she never noticed the strength in his arms or how broad his shoulders were. She felt silly gawking at him like this, and every time he so much as glanced in her direction she would duck out of the way before he saw her. She was acting childish now and she knew it.

               So it went on like this for a long while. Sansa wasn’t particularly skilled in the arts of love; she did not know how to approach a man. Slowly she slipped back into her old patterns, resigning herself to go without returning that kiss. Each day she would see him somewhere, along a corridor or a pathway. He stood on the battlements or in the throne room behind Joffrey. He never so much as spared a glance in her direction but sometimes she wondered if he was putting himself directly in her path on purpose.

               When Sansa had finally started to give up hope her chance came when she was least expecting it. It was early evening as Shae secured the fastenings of a gown made of rich midnight blue silk trimmed with silver embroidery and shimmering pale gemstones. Shae had said she looked like the queen of the night, clothed in starlight with diamonds in her hair. Her auburn curls her hanging loose down her shoulders; they had grown long since she’d arrived in Kings Landing. Her shimmery tresses hung low on her waist, nearly to the small of her back. Shae was clever with her hair, pinning a few braids in place atop her head while leaving the rest to swing freely. The neckline of her dress clung to the edges of her shoulders, a style in which Sansa was not entirely comfortable with. It was a dress that had been made for her while her Lord Father had still been alive, a dress that she never got to wear as of yet. When Shae was finished she admired herself in the mirror, tips of her fingers grazing the bare skin of her collarbone as she examined her reflection.

“You’ll be the most beautiful lady at the festival,” Shae assured her with a warm smile that Sansa found she could scarcely return. Joffrey was sure to torment her; he took delight in tormenting her whenever he could. As she walked the long corridors towards the throne room, anxiety twisted in her stomach like a sharp knife.  She breathed in deeply, struggling to calm her nerves as she approached the group waiting in the throne room.

 “His grace has gone on without you, and further decided and asked me to inform you that you shan’t be leaving the castle this evening. Tardiness is unacceptable, and persistence to do so will force him to take action against your person if you are late again,” Meryn Trant informed her when he saw her.

_Late? She wasn’t late…_

“His grace told me to be here at the hour of six this evening Ser Meryn—…” Sansa tried to explain but he held up a hand to silence her.

“You are mistaken Lady Sansa,” he informed her, “He asked that all attending courtiers must be here promptly at five-thirty this evening.”

_That little creepy…that dirty little creep…that horrible little…._

Sansa thought furiously though she carefully kept her face blank. He’d told her six, he’d told the entire court six and she knew that Meryn knew that. She knew that he was lying and _he_ knew that he was lying too.  Joffrey would do something like this too her, offer her the chance to leave the castle and then take it away from her just as quickly. That outing not long ago would probably be the last time she’d ever see the kingdom outside of the castle walls Sansa thought dismally. She watched Meryn walk away from her and the remaining courtiers titter with amusement as they walked off after Meryn and the rest of the kingsguard. Sansa was left alone in the throne room looking like a fool, dressed for dancing and entertainment, a night of frivolity when in truth she would have only loneliness and empty corridors to keep her company.

               Completely abashed she fled the throne room, hurrying down long empty corridors until she reached the godswood. She paced restlessly, fury pouring off her every being in waves. She was so tired of Joffrey’s games and tired of Meryn’s cruelty. Kneeling before the hearttree she began to pray, and she spent such a long time doing so her knees began to ache and it forced her to stand. She had prayed for her Lord Father, for her Lady Mother and her brother Robb, for a brave knight to take her away from this place, to take her to safety and to Winterfell. Sansa knew she was not a princess in one of her fairytales, that there was no knight coming to save her but silently she wish there was.

               Rubbing the back of her neck she closed her eyes, hot tears sliding down her cheeks as she gave into her frustration. Perhaps if she’d not grown up with her head in the clouds, perhaps if she’d listened to Arya more and abandoned her ideas of a sweet prince to marry or a noble Knight to save her, she’d have been saved from this horrible treatment. Maybe if she was colder, harder like Cercei or strong like her sister Arya, Joffrey wouldn’t be able to torment her so.

Even Cercei couldn’t stand up to Joffrey though.

She hadn’t been there but she’d heard through gossip of the courtiers that Joffrey had spoken ill to his mother and in return she’d slapped him. All the servants had witnessed it but said nothing, fearful to lose their heads should they utter a word. Joffrey had threatened his own mother with death and Cercei had been cowed into obedience.

Bitterly Sansa left the godswood, wiping hot tears from her eyes and off of her cheeks. She refused to let them see her cry, refused to acknowledge the slight Joffrey had dealt her once more. She’d found her way to the kitchens where she’d sent for a goblet of wine. Once she had said goblet in hand she ascended the stairs back to the main keep with a little more decorum and a little less rage. She straightened her skirts and swept her hair back off her shoulders, pinching her cheeks in the reflection of a mirror on a nearby wall, flushing them with color.  Gradually she sipped the bitter wine, grimacing at the taste of it.  She did not like to drink wine unless it was for a special occasion, having been taught by her septa that it was inappropriate for a lady to drink frequently least she be thought a drunkard. Tonight however, she did not care as she took another deep drink and crossed the drawbridge to Maegors holdfast and up the winding steps towards her chambers.

               Walking the corridor towards her chamber she found the bottom of her goblet, sighing as she stared at the empty cup. She began to understand why Cercei drank so much, Sansa mused. The firelight from the torches created shadows that danced along the walls and perhaps if she hadn’t had a goblet of wine, or perhaps if she hadn’t just been crudely embarrassed before the court once more these shadows might have given her pause, might have caused stories or ghosts and creatures in the dark to dance around in her head. It might have even frightened her a little as drafty old castles like this tend to do, but she cared not for the shadows dancing on the walls because they were naught but shadows. Her eyes were glazed over in thought as she walked, drifting from one thought to another like a leaf floating down a creek, catching on twigs and rocks and branches as it passed by.

               “Has the little bird been out again?” rasped a quiet voice, like steel against stone.

Sansa startled in surprise, the goblet in her hand tumbling from her grasp as she blinked away the thoughts of the day and focused on the man emerging from the shadows before her. It was as if one of those shadows had come to life and stepped away from the wall, his towering frame blocking out the firelight of the torches and casting her slender frame in shadow.

“I was just on my way back to my chambers,” Sansa managed to say softly.

“What?” he laughed and it sounded like the dogs down in the kennel howling at the moon, “no _Ser’s_? No courtesies for me tonight little bird? No pretty songs?”

Sansa could see he was drunk, he swayed from side to side subtly, as though he were struggling to hold his balance in front of her. He stepped towards her and she resisted the urge to step back, standing her ground as he approached her.

“What are you doing out so late little bird?” he demanded, a scowl curving his lips downwards.

“I was in the godswood,” she responded, “I was praying--…”

“For the _king_?” he rasped mockingly, “for your beloved Joffrey?”

“Please,” Sansa sighed, his mocking words were slowly grating on her nerves, “Leave me be. I’ve been mocked enough for one day.”

He leaned closer as he spoke, and she could smell wine and something else, something that she could almost call _perfume_. It was an odd scent to be on such a powerful man, but nevertheless it was there. 

“ _Please_ ,” he crooned in that soft rasp that made her bite back a snarl of rage, “Do you think your courtesies and manners will save you from _their_ cruelty?”

“Why must you be such an _ass_!” Sansa snapped, shoving past him as she climbed the steps towards her chambers. She must have surprised him with her words nearly as much as she’d surprised herself, never having uttered a curse word before in public. He was following her up the steps, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“Found me a pretty lass,” he mutters quietly, “with hair almost as lovely as yours,” he tells her and she freezes mid-step when he catches a lock of her auburn curls and lets it slide through his fingers. “She had a nice wet cunt,” he rasps as if speaking more to himself then her, “not nearly so sweet as yours would be though.”

She blinks rapidly at his words, trying to block out the ideas swirling in her mind at what he’d been up to the hours before he came here. She hurries forward and he follows, she hears him laugh at her increase in pace.  When she reaches her chamber door she rattles the handle a little too roughly, shoving the door open with a little too much force.  She all but throws herself into the room to get away from him, her face burning bright red at the thought of him thinking about her in such a manner. No man has ever spoken to her in such a manner, nor has any man ever stared so openly at her as Sandor Clegane was doing right now.

“Where’s your chamber maid?” he rasps, catching the door with one hand easily as she tries to shut it in his face.

“She’s at the festival,” Sansa says quietly as she watches him hover in the doorway.

He sneers crudely, making the burnt side of his face twitch in the candlelight, “I doubt that,” he thinks, and Sansa could see he must know something she did not, “That little fucker has taken half the guard tonight leaving you naught but a drunken dog and an empty goblet to keep you company.”

“You’re not a dog,” Sansa scowls up at him, “Stop calling yourself that.”

“I am a dog,” he replies easily, “and you’re a little bird, you going to sing for me tonight little bird?”

“What?” Sansa frowns, having completely lost his train of thought now.

“I couldn’t make that pretty lass sing but then I wasn’t even trying too…” he muses, rubbing his face tiredly.

Sing…what was he…Oh… _Oh_ …..

Sansa understands now, looking completely scandalized by his words. “Oh come off it little bird,” he tells her as she steps away from him, “You’re maidenly virtue is safe from the likes of me.”

Sansa pauses, recalling something he’d said before, “Joffrey left you to guard me?”

He quirks an eyebrow and suddenly she knows she’s caught him, “No.”

“Yet you’re here….” Sansa adds, tilting her head to one side, “Why are you on this side of the castle?”

_Why was she suddenly so curious…she was being rude…_

“Mayhaps my own chambers are on this side of the castle, or perhaps I was on my way to the wine cellars,” he tells her, looking perfectly unabashed by being caught and pretending he’d done nothing wrong at all.

_Both could possibly be true…_

Sansa thinks, regarding him closely, “You should probably get some sleep,” she says softly, “I’m safe here…I’m in my bedchambers.”

“Trying to get rid of me so soon little bird?” he says with a trace of bitterness in his voice as he steps away from her door. There is something in his voice that makes her pause, her breath catching in her throat as she watches him. Then she remembers what she wanted to do, what she’d been trying to do for nearly a week now without any success. She contemplated what she could do, but knew there would be no way to sneak up on him now, nor did she have a blindfold or a mint at hand. She watched him shift in the doorway, the candlelight in her room catching the glint of his grey mail and armor as he turned to leave. In the threading of the mail glimmered something red like burnt copper.

_It was a hair…._

               A _hair_ , Sansa thought with both shock and sudden jealousy. Red hair, almost as red as hers, and she knew that this hair must have belonged to the woman he’d gone to see. Without even realizing she was doing so Sansa was following him out the door before she’d even had time to plan out what she meant to do. He was at the bottom of the staircase when she caught up to him, and took his wrist in her hand to stop him. “Wait please,” she says gently, looking entirely uncertain but cannot burn the idea from her mind that another woman has kissed him. Touched him in a way she had not the bravery to do so. She had no blindfold and no mint, but she would kiss him regardless.

He looked down at her with suspicious scrutiny as she raised her hands up and caught his face between her palms. He flinched at the action but Sansa was determined, sliding the soft pads of her fingers against his burnt flesh as she brushed a stray lock of lank black hair away from his face.

“Close your eyes,” she tells him and he frowns at her, opens his mouth to retort but then closes it, peering down into her smiling face with a mixture of confusion and hesitation. When he doesn’t do as she asks she sighs and slides her fingers up the side of his face to cover his eyes, feels his eyelashes flutter shut against her fingers. Oh so gently she pulls him down towards her, close enough that she could feel his warm breath fanning across her face. She was shaking she was so nervous as she tentatively pressed her lips against his own, sliding her tongue across his lips until he opened his mouth for her. Her hands slipped away from his eyes to curl the left in his hair and the right slid down to his shoulder. His hands settled warmly on her hips and pulled her closer to the shelter of his body, pressing her tightly up against his hard frame.

               Her right hand slid further down his chest until she caught the tiny red hair tangled in his mail and plucked it free, tossing it haphazardly over her shoulder. She melted against him easily, yielding to him as his rough lips pressed down on hers in earnest and his tongue slid against hers, tasting and exploring the sweet haven of her mouth. In all her dreams she’d never dreamt of being kissed like this, had no idea that _this_ was how she wanted to be kissed. His right hand tangled in her hair as it gently pulled her head back so that he might explore her mouth with his tongue and lips at his leisure, his left hand gently sliding up and down the length of her torso.

The sound of laughter broke them apart, both stepping away from each other quickly as the sound of laughter and horses filled the courtyard outside. Sansa stepped towards the window and peered out, watching the carriages roll in.

“You had better get to bed little bird,” he rasps quietly as he presses a gentle hand against the small of her back and urges her towards the staircase.

She nods and starts up the stairs and once she reaches the door she turns to watch him leave, realizes that he hasn’t left and was watching her ascend the stairs.  “Go to bed,” he repeats, nodding towards her door. She nods and pushes the door open, shutting the door behind her gently.  She can hear his footsteps retreat for a ways, and when they are gone she goes to bed. That night she finds sleep easily, and she dreams of his lips against hers, and the next morning while Shae brushes her hair she asks how her night went and Sansa smiles at her in the reflection of the mirror, shrugging lightly as she responds,

“Like a dream.”


End file.
